


Between Acrylic Paint and Coffee Stains

by RB803



Series: Between Acrylic Paint and Coffee Stains- [1]
Category: Death - Fandom, Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Blushing, Co-workers, Coming of Age, Crushes, Emotional, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, Sweet, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RB803/pseuds/RB803
Summary: And despite this, in the deepest corners of his being, he relished the jolts of electricity that would shoot down his spine whenever she walked in the room, the dusting of pink that would grace his cheeks when she caught him staring, and the ever present warmth in his chest that never quite seemed to leave these days.Because it meant he was alive.ORA teenage L struggles with the feelings of first love during a case. He can handle this... right?
Relationships: L & Watari | Quillsh Wammy, L (Death Note)/Original Female Character(s), L/Watari | Quillsh Wammy
Series: Between Acrylic Paint and Coffee Stains- [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129796
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in a very long time! Constructive criticism always welcome, just please be respectful! Epilogue coming soon. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

For the first time in his young life, the detective was stumped. He really hated to admit it, and certainly wouldn't say it out loud to anyone (including dear old Watari), but it was clear he was at a loss. 

Huffing in his chair, L closed the case file, and instead turned his focus to the half eaten piece of cake on his desk. Perhaps with a bit more sugary fuel in his system, the answer to his dilemma would suddenly become clear. 

_“It's worth a shot. At this point I've been staring at the same picture for hours.”_ he mused to himself, chewing absentmindedly. Looking around the cluttered room, he retraced his steps laid out on the board in front of him. 

Whoever this person was, they liked to play games. The pictures of bodies at the scene? Sadly, at this point in his career, he was used to that. Though he had only taken up the mantle of “L” 3 years prior, he had his fair share of gruesome cases thrown at him by the local police departments he partnered with. 

What he couldn't get past were the pictures and paintings left behind. As much as he would hate to call a criminal’s artistic work beautiful, some of them were well... just that. Large canvases filled with blues and the deepest shades of green portraying wildlife and landscapes. Others were passionately angry with oranges and reds smeared across the fabric. Looking at them together, the 6 crime scenes clearly told a story, and yet he could not decipher what that story was.

Just what exactly was he missing... 

He was still lost in thought when Watari entered his office with evening tea.

“Here you are L.” He says kindly, setting the pot along with cups and copious amounts of sugar on the desk. 

“Thank you Watari...” 

Though he really tried his best, he couldn't hide the slight twinge of disappointment that stained his words. Mentally, he chided himself as soon as the sentence left his lips. What was he, a child pouting over things not going his way? 

Watari smiled gently, picking up on the frustration in the young boy's tone. It was easy to forget that he was a teenager at times, and experienced all the things that came along with young adolescence (despite consistently carrying the weight of the justice system on his shoulders).

“Is there something that's troubling you L?” He asked tentatively, fully knowing the answer.

“No, no I'm fine no need to worry.” He says with finality, eager to drop the subject.

Silence follows.

It had become the norm ever since the young man picked up the mantle of L.  
_“It was never like he was particularly affectionate in the first place.”_ Watari thought, but something had clearly changed in him once he assumed the role. His slouch became more noticable, the bags under his eyes more pronounced, and as much as L brushed it off as inconsequential, Watari knew otherwise. 

“Perhaps we should bring an expert in.” He continued, watching the young detective begin to pour a cup of tea.

“I'll consider it. Is that all Watari?” He says flatly. 

“That's all. Have a good night sir.” He turns, leaving L alone once again.

Listening to the fading footsteps, a low hum of annoyance escaped L’s throat. He had been long considering bringing an expert in for this case, but (as much as he was ashamed to admit) his ego wouldn't let him (who on Earth could possibly assist the world's greatest detective on a case?). But now, his mentor confirmed his thoughts, and he figured now was a good of a time as any to swallow his pride for the greater good.

___

A few days later, L was positive he had found someone capable enough to assist him. Her record was spotless, her education elite, and she was regarded as one of the most promising young art historians in the field. He only hoped her expertise would ease his frustrations with this strange mess of a case. 

Looking deeper into her background, he noted that she had worked with the police before in determining the authenticity of multiple stolen Basquiat paintings in the early 2000s. This was good, she was capable. The only thing left to do was wait for her arrival. 

___

The following Monday morning, Keana Marquis approached the Louington hotel at 9:30 am. To say she was apprehensive was an understatement.

While she had worked with the police force before and actually (to her surprise) ended up being a great help, something felt much...different this time around. Walking into the lobby, and searching for an elderly man in a suit who would introduce himself as Watari (as she was instructed to do over the phone), she found him standing near the elevator. Following him up the twists and turns of hallways so long she began wondering how she would ever find her way out, they eventually arrived at a plain looking door. 

Following the man inside, she was greeted by stacks of paper taller than herself, and a dangerously thin looking young man with wild black hair. Taking note of their entrance, the black haired man stood and turned to face the two new occupants of the room. 

“Hello Ms. Marquis, I am detective Coil.” He stated in a low tone as his alias rolled off of his tongue, large black eyes looking at her curiously.

“I see you have already met Watari.” he continues, nodding to the older man at her side. 

“H-hi nice to meet you.” Keana managed to force out with a smile, nerves still jittering her body. Was it too hot in here? It felt like she had sweat through her clothes. 

Extending herself to politely shake hands, she noticed Coil become stiff momentarily before quickly grabbing her hand and shaking it once, as if unnerved by the contact. 

An awkward silence settled upon the three in the room. Sensing this, Watari was the first to respond. 

“I will be taking my leave now, Ms. Marquis, would you like anything? A beverage, or any refreshments?” He inquired, his grandfatherly tone easing her nerves ever so slightly. 

“ A glass of water would be lovely, thank you so much.” 

“Of course. Coil would you like refreshments as well?” 

“No thank you Watari.”  
___

The awkwardness permeates the air again, only this time, the gracious elderly man is not there to save them. 

L simply sat back down in his chair, leaving Keana to drift over to the sofa, still uneasy. Smoothing down her knee length skirt, she crossed her legs, and then uncrossed them again, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement by the detective... except it never came.  
When Watari comes back with her water, she thanks him graciously again, and silently mourns his absence once he excuses himself from the room once more. 

More silence follows between the two occupants of the room. 

“ I never thought I would be working with the local San Francisco police department again…” Keana trailed off, desperate to fill the silence.

“Yes, well your input was extremely helpful to our forces in a very unique situation. I hope you’ll be so gracious enough to lend us your expertise again.”

She smiled slightly at his words, suddenly feeling the pressure mount on her. 

“Yes, well I'll try my best here like I did before.” She laughed slightly, still hoping to ease more of the tension that had previously filled the room. 

“Yes, well, let's start.” Coil handed her a stack of paper containing pictures of...paintings?

“...Are these stolen works like before?” She inquired, chocolate eyes beginning to dance with curiosity. Nevermind the thick tension that seemed to permeate her very bones moments before. She was in her element now. 

“Take a look at them. What do you think?” He prodded, watching intently as she spread the photos across the mahogany coffee table. 

“Hm, I don't recognize these from anywhere. They resemble some art styles I've seen in the past, but it's clear these aren't part of a valuable collection…” She began, intent focus taking over her features.

“...Are… are these works a collection? They seem to flow together in a certain way…” She trailed off again as she cocked her head sideways, wild black curls following suit.

“ I see elements of brutalism here, but look, the art style changes dramatically in these two.” She picked up two photos out of the 6 layed on the table, and began to arrange them in a sequence. 

Coil watches her intently, curious but surprised her thought process matched his own so far. He watches as she turns her head every which way in an attempt to examine different angles only she could see.

Suddenly, she hoists herself up from the sofa as if she’s in a trance. Her methodical pacing around the coffee table begins soon after, face still contorted in deep thought. The only sound in the room comes from her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. 

Then she stops suddenly, and arranges them in an order that seems to satisfy her. 

“Fucking brilliant.” Coil remarks to himself as she seems to realize he is still in the room.

“Oh um, sorry about that, I can get really into these kinds of things…” She stated, looking downwards as an unwelcome heat reddens the tips of her caramel colored ears. 

Ignoring her bashful apology, Coil gets up and examines her handywork, eyes wide as he realizes it has taken her less than an hour to arrange them in the exact sequence he hypothesized.

 _“Fucking. Brilliant.”_ He thinks once more as he turns to face Keana, who’s bashfulness has again been replaced by curiosity.

“I hope that was in the ballpark of what you were thinking as well…” She trailed off, looking at him expectantly with wide eyes that rivaled his own. 

Coil suddenly looked down, uncomfortable under her intense stare. It has been quite a while since he has engaged in a conversation with someone other than Watari. 

“It's spot on, but I'd expect nothing less from a Harvard graduate.” He said, still finding it hard to meet her eyes. 

Walking back to his desk, he handed her the notes detailing the rest of the case. Now knowing he has indeed made the right choice, it was time to get down to business. 

“I'd like for you to read through this Ms. Marquis. These pieces belong to a series of murders around the San Francisco area and beyond. Each victim has surfaced with a painting at their location. Please be advised there are some pictures included in these documents that can be considered disturbing.” Coil began, his monotone voice suddenly icy and impartial.

At the mention of disturbing photos, Coil noticed her face go pale, the richness of her skin tone suddenly replaced with sickly sheen. 

“Um. Ok.” She replied with uncertainty, taking the documents from him. 

He watches her hesitantly open the folder, bracing herself for what might come next. He almost tells her that if she is uncomfortable, then she does not have to view things she does not want to. However before he can speak, she is already flipping through pictures and taking notes on the margins. 

____ 

Before L realizes it, Keana becomes a fixture in the tiny, grubby hotel room he has been working out of for the past month.

He convinces himself that simply out of convenience he has rented a separate hotel room for her to use at her discretion (what if there is a sudden breakthrough they need to work on immediately?) 

He notes she is a creature of routine, often ordering the same iced coffee daily. Perhaps he should buy a coffee machine for the tiny hotel room turned office, simply for convenience of course (even though he didn't particularly like coffee). 

As soon as the thought enters his mind, Keana enters the room with her usual beverage, but this time setting one on his desk as she walks by. 

Looking up at her quizzically, she smiled.

“Well, honestly, you looked pretty tired, and I thought you'd like to try one.” She remarked, as she unloaded the content of her bags, setting them neatly on the table. 

He felt the corners of his lips involuntarily curve upward as he thanked her. tentatively sipping the drink, he promptly recoiled when the bitterness reached his tongue.  
\---

It was the type of feeling that left you breathless with goosebumps when someone mentioned their name. He found it strange at first, the unfamiliar warmth in his chest like flowers blooming after a long rain, or like when you felt the warmth of the sun on a chilly day. 

Over the course of three and a half months he learned to push the blooms away, but when they came back (and they inevitably did, especially when she said his name, or when she flashed a smile his way), he had quite a hard time keeping his composure around the frizzy haired woman.

Yes, that was certainly difficult to deal with, but by far, the times where she unknowingly caught him off guard were the worst. Whenever the sun peeked through the windows near the sofa, and settled upon her skin bathing her in an ethereal glow ( around 2 pm he noted, every day), it was impossible to focus on the documents in front of him. 

He’d find himself unconsciously staring at times. The urge was just too strong to resist, despite his best efforts to appear interested in his shirt, or the hem of his pants whenever she looked up. 

The nail in the coffin came when Watari noticed him one evening, stealing glances at her while she buried herself in an art history book. 

“Your evening tea sir.” Watari said gently, jolting him out of his fixated trance. 

He looked at him with wide eyes, praying that Watari perhaps didn't notice where he was looking or..or... but the smile on the old man's face said it all. 

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help the rising flush that colored his face when Watari simply rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and excused himself. 

___

Tonight, they have hit a dead end. 

Keana paced methodically ( as she frequently tends to do, L muses), a stream of incoherent mumbling escaping her lips like her own personal mantra.

Eventually, she let out in an exasperated huff, plopping down defeated on the worn sofa. 

L, choosing to ignore her (lest he be undone by the pouting woman behind him) kept typing and highlighting the documents splayed out on his desk. 

Suddenly, she shot up, posture straight as she scrambled out of the room in a hurry. 

He watched her form leave the room, and let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding when she promptly returned with as many painting supplies as she could carry. 

“I don't know why I didn't try this earlier.” She said over her shoulder as she frantically set up an easel and prepared a space to paint within the small room. As quickly as she started moving, she froze and turned to him.

“Uh, it is ok if I paint in here right?” She asked tentatively.

The sudden question caught him by surprise. He simply nodded, voice caught in his throat.

“What will you paint?” He asked slowly, careful to ensure his voice wouldn't betray him.

“Truthfully, I don't know. It'll just come to me as I start.” She said simply, eyes scanning the canvas.

“Maybe this will help me uncover some things I may have overlooked in the original paintings.”

It was like a dance, watching her glide across the floor and place careful strokes of paint onto the canvas. 

She had long since taken off her heels in total concentration, carefully mixing paint, dipping brushes, and repeating the process all over again. 

It was hypnotising. She was hypnotising. 

“Where did you learn how to paint?” He heard himself ask her, still far too entranced by her movements to care about what was leaving his mouth.

“Oh I've always loved to paint, draw, and write really.” She said, carefully placing splotches of paint. 

“It was really the only thing I excelled at. I was never too great at science or math or any of those things, but the creative arts? They always just came so naturally.” 

“You're blessed with a gift.” He hears himself say before his eyes widen and she's looking at him with those big doe eyes and his heart is racing and his mind is hazy and oh god why did he say that and-

“That's kind of you…” She trails off quietly, a sweet smile gracing her lips, and his racing thoughts dissipated as he found himself doing the same.

Sometimes it feels like he is another person around Keana. Perhaps because she didn't know his dirty little secret about being the world's greatest detective, or maybe it's because she treats him like a human being instead of a letter on the screen.

The feeling was foreign to him. He had become comfortable masquerading as the faceless enigma that would swoop in and solve the world's problems, because that is what he was meant to do. Who cared about his humanity when so many more important things were at stake? When he took the mantle of L, he knew full well what he would be giving up, and he made his peace with it long ago. And despite this, in the deepest corners of his being, he relished the jolts of electricity that would shoot down his spine whenever she walked in the room, the dusting of pink that would grace his cheeks when she caught him staring, and the ever present warmth in his chest that never quite seemed to leave these days.

Because it meant he was alive. 

_____

They continue in silence, until it becomes so painfully clear to her that she yelps in surprise.

“It was never in the paintings…” She breathes out suddenly as she drops her brush to the floor, oblivious to the speckles of paint landing on her bare feet.

“Coil, the paintings are a map!” She screams as she rushes over to his side, scrambling for the pictures that she had first laid eyes on nearly 4 months ago.

“Take a look, each one has a distinctive color, pattern, and style. Now considering where the art style originated, thats where the murder takes place. It's a map Coil. They were broadcasting it to us all along.” She breathed heavily, face flushed with emotion. 

L felt himself involuntarily stiffen under her proximity to his body. He could feel her labored breathing (which took his teenage mind to unspeakable places) on the back of his neck, and the indentation of her paint stained fingertips on the back of his chair. 

It was nearly too much for him to handle. 

“Coil.” Keana repeated, clearly exasperated by his lack of response. 

Snapping him out of his thoughts, his brain struggled to make a complete sentence. 

“I- uh- yes I see what you're getting at.” He stumbled over his words, still tense from her proximity.

As she released her iron grip on the back of his chair, he suddenly found it much easier to breathe again. 

She watched over him expectantly as he traced her thoughts and reasonings through massive files of notes on his desk.

She...was right, but then again of course she was. It was her, after all.

Turning to meet her expectant eyes, he nodded in conferment, hyper aware of her gaze on his face. 

A relieved smile graced her lips as she ran paint smeared hands through her wild curls. They left specks of paint in her strands. To him it resembled little fragments of the rainbow nestled in the rich black of her hair. He hadn't noticed until now, but there were splotches of paint on her face and well… everywhere. Her trademark skirt was stained with violet, and the most vibrant reds, greens, purples and blues seemed embedded into her shirt.

In that moment she was the most enticing painting he had ever seen.


	2. The Wrong Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when two people finally face their feelings?

A finished case was supposed to be a joyful moment. It usually was, his mind filled with the innate satisfaction that he has once again done something no one else has managed to do. Finished cases meant a job well done, and occasionally a piece of strawberry cake from his favorite shop, courtesy of Watari. 

This was supposed to be a happy time, right? So why on Earth did he feel so...somber? 

Running a lanky hand across his face, L glanced at the rusted clock nailed to the wall. 

_“Perhaps I need to rest,”_ He thought. 

Yes, surely that was it. According to his calculations, he hasn't slept in the past 4 days, and maybe it was beginning to affect his perception. His sour mood had nothing to do with saying goodbye to Keana. It had nothing to do with the way his heart lurched every time he thought of her smile, and the flip of his stomach when she ran her hands through the thick black curls resting on her head.

It had nothing to do with that. At all. 

L looked at the clock again. She would be here soon. 

The grubby little hotel room he called home has been gutted clean of his presence; stacks of papers removed and carefully taken away, notes disposed of, and furniture put back into place. 

It was like he was never here at all… a ghost. 

Strangely enough, despite his disappearing act, he could still feel her essence in the room. If he concentrated long enough, he could still see speckles of emerald paint splattered across the floor, and on the wall (despite Watari’s best efforts to remove the stains). In all honesty, he would (should) let her paint this whole damn room however she wanted. In fact, he'd do _anything_ she wanted, if it meant that just for a second she’d understand how deeply he felt for her. 

Against all rational thought, he’d readily lay his soul bare for her if she just… understood. Sighing, L crumpled in his chair, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily against his chest. 

If he didn't experience it firsthand, L would have sincerely thought love was a farce. A true, unequivocal and irrational farce. Yes, you read about it in silly romance novels; of broad shouldered Cassinovas sweeping ladies off their feet, or in epic dramas where everything is just too...perfect. 

No one told him it felt like this. How beautiful, nerve racking, and imperfect it was, and how achingly painful it could be. 

“Hi Coil. How are you?” A familiar feminine voice jolts him out of a trance and suddenly the world is sideways. 

“Oh my goodness I'm so sorry I didn't mean to startle you!” Keana exclaims, rushing to his side, and extending a hand to help him off of the floor. 

L stares blankly at her, at her hand, and at her once again, feeling his heartbeat steadily increase and the tornado of thoughts grow more tumultus in his head.

“You’re ok right?” She stares at him quizzically when he doesn't respond, and grasps his hand to hoist him up from his seated position onto his feet.

It’s suddenly like his body is on fire. In that moment he wholeheartedly curses his pale skin as he feels an uncomfortable warmth spread down to his collarbone. 

“I’m fine Ms. Marquis. It seems you've caught me while I was deep in thought.” Even he is surprised at how calmly the words leave his mouth, despite the deepening of his blush. 

“Sorry about that, it must have been something important.” She muses, shooting a polite smile at him, and in that moment he can't bring himself to look her in the eye, because all he can think of is how she smells like...lavender. 

Turning her attention to the barren room, Keana steps away from L, and makes her way towards the familiar, old sofa where she spent most of her time.

“Wow, this room certainly looks different doesn't it?” 

“Quite.” He hears himself say. 

It's been about six months since this whole thing started, and if he was being honest with himself, L would have gladly spent years by this woman's side. All she had to do was ask.

“I’m… I’m almost kind of sad it's over.” Keana laughs slightly, and at that remark, L looks up at her. 

“ I’m glad we caught this guy of course though!” She hastily adds on, an awkward smile gracing her lips as she plays with her hair in that adorable way she does when she's nervous, L notes. 

“It certainly was a pleasure Ms. Marqui-”

“Keana.”

“What?”

“Call me Keana.” She insists. “We’ve worked together for the better half of a year, I think we're past the point of you addressing me by my surname!” She laughs, a warm smile gracing her face. 

“Well...Keana, your expertise was invaluable. Solving this would have been difficult if not impossible without your assistance.”

“Thank you Coi- I mean Eraldo.” She corrects herself, and L’s heart lurches with sadness as he hears his alias slip past her lips. In a perfect world, he would be a little older, court her like she deserved, and devote himself to a suburban life. 

In a perfect world she would know his real name. 

“Ah, well, before you go off to your next adventure, I’d like to give you a small something.” Keana says, and there she goes twisting that poor lock of hair again. 

She makes her way toward the door, hesitantly picking up a canvas she haphazardly propped on the wall in a haste to help him off of the floor. 

She holds it in her hands for a few moments as she returns to the sofa, actively looking it over, and actively avoiding his curious stare. 

“I-um.. well I- just...here.” She blurts, nerves settling on her face as she thrust the canvas in his direction. 

Taking the canvas, L’s heart nearly stopped all together. He knew full well she had gifts and talents, but this was… this was...divine. 

The portrait was so lifelike, it was as if he was staring into a mirror. She had captured his essence, from head to toe, and created a living, breathing, masterpiece from the simple tools of a brush and some acrylic paint. 

“Since this case started, I've gotten back into my painting. This is just a way of showing my gratitude...” She trailed off, and if he didn't know any better, he could have sworn she was blushing. 

The brain makes people do strange things, because before he can process his own actions, he is sitting on the sofa with her, his black eyes locked with her doe brown. 

“Thank you…” He says softly, and every nerve in his body is _screaming_ at him to _tell her_. 

Tell her that she is remarkable in every way he can think of. That he would gladly give himself to her if things were that simple, if only he weren't cursed with the title of _world's greatest detective._ Tell her that even despite that, his heart sings and threatens to burst when she enters the room, and her laugh is simply heaven to his ears. Tell her that in 18 years of living, he has never felt this way about another person before, and it scares him honestly, shakes him to his very core! And still, the thought of not seeing her ever again is enough to bring him to tears. 

Despite the swirling cloud in his head, instead, he settles on: “It's...beautiful.”

And she seems to understand his telepathic message when a lanky hand reaches to rest upon hers. She settles into the gesture, smiling sweetly and turning her palm up to fully grab his hand. And when he looks at her again, those beautiful doe eyes are brimming with silent tears.

Ah. So she understands too. 

He is too young, too immature. She is three years his senior.

She has started her career in this city, she won't leave.

He has secrets she doesn't even know about.

Now is not the right time. 

When he sees the first tear roll down her cheek, it nearly breaks his heart in two, and he reaches to wipe it away.  
“I understand.” He assures her, and there she goes giving him that look again.

That look that makes it feel like he's flying. 

They stay like that for a while, sharing comfortable silence and telepathic thoughts, until he has to catch a flight to solve a case in Germany.

Grabbing the last box full of her belongings, she follows him out of the room, brows furrowed with thoughts she is not yet ready to share. 

And now it is time to part ways. 

Both stand and stare at each other, neither willing to break the fragile understanding they have come to, until Coil reaches into his pocket, pulling out a simple black phone. 

Grabbing her free hand once more, he presses it into her palm as if his life depended on it. 

“Please...keep in touch…” _Don't leave me._

“Thank you, I will Coil.” _I can’t stand to see you go._

“Please get home safely.” _Come back to me when it's time._

“Have a wonderful flight…” _Promise me you’ll be safe._

When they can't delay the inevitable anymore, Keana braces herself as she watches Coil’s form walk away… until she simply can't take it. 

Dumping her box and running up beside him, she grabs his shoulders and spins him around planting a chaste kiss. At that moment there is no car waiting, no flight to catch, no responsibility of the world's greatest detective, only two people who met at the wrong time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, here is the epilogue to the first chapter! I am excited to announce that this will be the starting point of a new series with Keana and L taking place well into the future. Thank you for reading up until this point! As always, constructive criticism is always welcome.


End file.
